


Chaotic

by mrsprobie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, F/F, Female-Centric, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Lesbian Character, POV Hermione Granger, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Self-Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsprobie/pseuds/mrsprobie
Summary: Back at Hogwarts, Hermione finds a new brewing partner in Daphne Greengrass, an odd, slightly chaotic girl with a beautiful smile and a penchant for experimenting. Over time, she discovers something more.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Daphne Greengrass
Comments: 5
Kudos: 89





	Chaotic

Hermione stood at the door to the potions lab and was grateful to see it was almost completely empty. Like most of the eighth years, she had permission to use the lab unattended, so long as she promised not to do anything “reckless.” It was only her third day back at Hogwarts, and dinner wasn’t even half over, so she’d been sure the room would be fairly open.

The only person in the room was a girl she recognized as Daphne Greengrass. She knew that Greengrass was a Slytherin from her year, but struggled to remember whether she’d been at the final battle. The Greengrasses weren’t a ‘light’ family, and so few families had managed to stay neutral in the last war. She certainly wasn’t fighting for the light, but Hermione didn’t think she was in the crowd of Slytherins who had abandoned the school. Perhaps her family had pulled her before the school year began. Perhaps Hermione had simply missed her.

With this ambiguity in mind, Hermione stepped all the way into the lab. If Greengrass noticed her, she didn’t give any sign. Hermione set her bag on a table (two away from the other girl -- far enough not to be distracting or strike up a conversation, but not so far as to be offensive) and began unpacking her things.

It was several minutes before Greengrass asked, “What are you making?”

“Burning bitterroot balm,” Hermione said shortly, not looking up from her kit. As the balm was a delicate one, she went to the shelves on the far side of the room to find a scale. When she turned back around, Greengrass was closely inspecting a vial of bitterroot petals (for the root was not the active ingredient in this potion) that Hermione was fairly sure she hadn’t removed from her kit. Unsure of what to say, she returned to her workstation and looked pointedly at the vial. Greengrass didn’t seem to notice, still holding it up to inspect in the artificial dungeon light.

“A little pale for balm, aren’t they?” the girl asked.

Hermione wasn’t sure if she expected an answer. After a moment, it seemed so. “They’re not the ideal choice, but they’re all I could find.”

Greengrass looked up. “What’s it for?”

“A scar,” Hermione said stiffly. She barely stopped her hand from flying to her forearm.

Greengrass glanced down at the movement, and Hermione swore mentally. She’d still twitched. She needed to get better about that. “Is it a curse scar? You don’t really need the balm for anything less.”

Hermione returned to her kit, unpacking the remaining ingredients. “That’s a very personal question.”

Greengrass didn’t answer, and for a moment Hermione almost relaxed -- before realizing the bint had walked away with her bitterroot petals! She turned to demand them back, but Greengrass was already walking back over to her.

“You can use these.” She held out two flowers with deep pink petals. They weren’t in a vial. She blew gently on them -- “must get rid of the dust” -- and something in Hermione stirred. She set the feeling aside without examination, suddenly acutely aware of how warm her face felt despite how objectively cold the dungeons were.

Hermione accepted the trade (it was only sensible), and they didn’t speak again for quite some time. Neither said another word until Hermione noticed Greengrass’s cauldron was steaming, bubbling to the point of threatening to boil over -- and that the other girl didn’t seem to realize.

“Your cauldron looks ready for the next step,” Hermione said loudly, deciding she’d rather interact with the other girl (young woman?) than be blown up because she had her head in the clouds.

“Oh, thank you, Granger!” Greengrass shook herself and scraped pre-chopped dandelion root straight from her cutting board into the cauldron. She burrowed through her bag, then looked to Hermione sheepishly. “Have you got any spare parchment? I’m trying to keep track of my most common mistakes and what causes them.”

“Er, sure,” she said. She tore a piece from her supply and walked it over. “What caused your mistake this time?” she asked, overcome by intellectual curiosity.

“Daydreaming about a pretty girl,” Greengrass said with a winning smile. Something stirred in Hermione again, and this time she recognized the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. She turned quickly and went back to her cauldron. They didn’t speak again for the rest of the evening.

* * *

The weather was getting colder, and Hermione found herself in Gryffindor tower in front of the fire. She was leaned back in her favorite armchair, her knees pulled up in front of her. Parvati was regaling her and Ginny with Trelawney’s latest predictions; it was the first time in years that she hadn’t predicted a student’s death. Hermione sighed, uncurling herself. “I should probably get going.”

“I don’t know why you spend so much time in the library,” said Ginny with a laugh. “You already know everything.”

Hermione had actually been spending most of her study time in the potions lab, not the library, but she was content to let Ginny think otherwise. She felt uncomfortable at the idea of Ginny dropping in to visit (pester) her and seeing the confusing rapport she had built with Greengrass.

The Slytherin hadn’t said anything so bold as her daydreaming comment in the past month, but she hadn’t held back that beautiful, blinding smile either. Hermione told herself that she only made sure to go at the same time as Greengrass to prevent her cauldron from exploding. She had a tendency to experiment whether she was alone or not.

“Hermione?”

She snapped back into reality. She had a tendency to zone out a little whenever she thought about Greengrass. “How can I make sure I know everything if I don’t read every book there is?”

Parvati snickered. “You’re ridiculous. Have fun! Maybe you’ll see Boot there,” she added, waggling her eyebrows. “He’s always studying. Maybe you could give him something new to look over.”

Even Hermione had to laugh at that. “I don’t think so.”

* * *

After a while, Hermione had moved to using the table next to Daphne’s during their brewing sessions. (She had also taken to calling her Daphne. It felt like a natural extension of their… whatever relationship was budding.) It was easiest this way to keep an eye on the state of Daphne’s cauldron. She hadn’t ‘lost focus’ since their first time brewing together, and Hermione wondered often if it hadn’t just been a ruse to use her ‘pretty girl’ line.

Daphne had forgone her usual sweater vest. While the dungeon lab was usually increasingly frigid as autumn went on, today their potion would stay on full heat for a solid thirty minutes, openly steaming.

Hermione was sure that she was looking over so frequently because she didn’t want Daphne to explode anything, and _not_ because she had a better view of the girl’s body than ever before. After an embarrassingly long time sneaking glances, she finally noticed something off about Daphne’s potion. While Hermione’s was the textbook-correct translucent silver, Daphne’s was a thick, shimmering copper. “What did you do differently?”

She knew by this point that almost every difference in their potions was because Daphne was intentionally experimenting. At first, she had been skeptical that the other girl didn’t just have her head in the clouds, but it had quickly become evident that Daphne was… a bit of a mad scientist. Once Hermione had explained what that meant, she had really embraced the label.

Over the weeks they had been working together, Hermione had had to revise her opinion of Daphne quite a bit. She had originally characterized her as a Luna Lovegood type: likeable, if slightly batty. However, while both were blonde and lithe and deeply intelligent and unpredictable and _odd_ , Daphne had a sort of scientific air about her that Luna lacked. She kept detailed notes of every experiment she did (and always had spare parchment). At the same time, she was absolutely chaotic. If Luna was divination, qualitative and intentional, then Daphne was experimental potions, quantitative and rigorous yet liable to cause an explosion at any time. (Hermione had cast two shield spells in the last week.)

“I tried adding the neem oil two steps early.” She peered down into the cauldron, her face dangerously far into the steam. “I don’t think it worked.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” said Hermione. “Maybe you could try adding extra fanged geranium after the peppermint?”

Daphne did so over the course of a few minutes while Hermione looked on, and by the end, the potion was not quite silver, but instead looked like molten metallic gold. Hermione supposed that was slightly closer, and said so.

Daphne vanished the potion with a laugh and returned her tools (cleaned as she went along) to her kit. “You and I both know it’s just as bad. I’ll make another before class.” Once her things were fully packed away, Daphne leaned in without warning and kissed Hermione on the cheek. The skin her lips touched felt like it was burning. “Thank you for the help, Hermione.”

She felt her face turn bright red. “Y- you’re welcome,” she stammered.

Daphne jumped back immediately. “Did I upset you? I’ll stop if I upset you.” Her eyes were wide, her body language intentionally softened. She really was very beautiful. Hermione thought dimly, her eyes lingering on the line where the other girl’s jaw met the soft skin of her neck.

She took a moment to find words, though she had known her answer instantly. She dragged her eyes up to Daphne’s, only pausing for a moment on her lips. “No,” she said firmly. “You didn’t upset me.”

Daphne gave her the same winning smile that she always did when flirting, then grabbed her kit and bag and practically skipped out of the lab. She had this horrible tendency to bring confusing feelings to the surface and then wander away, leaving Hermione to think (obsess?).

Hermione stood there, blinking, until her own potion bubbled right over the edge of the cauldron. Admitting to herself that she wouldn’t be able to focus for the rest of the evening, she vanished its contents and began to clean up her station.

* * *

With their usual seats taken, Hermione found herself and her friends in the corner of the common room drinking conjured tea. While the tea was impermanent, a principal exception to Gamp’s Law, it would still warm their hands, taste delicious (as long as Ginny was the one to conjure it), and accent the cozy Sunday afternoon atmosphere of Gryffindor Tower quite nicely.

“So then Harry says, ‘Well, I’d hardly consider him on par with Moody,’ and Ron shakes his head, right?” Ginny said between giggles.

“And he was right there?” Hermione guessed. Ginny had to put her mug down, she was laughing so hard.

“Of course!” Hermione and Parvati broke into laughter as well, drawing a few glances from those nearest them.

“Harry always had a way of putting his foot in his mouth,” Parvati said. She then froze, looking up at Ginny nervously.

“You went with him to the Yule Ball, right?” Ginny asked, still grinning. “It looked like he made a right mess of it.”

Hermione was glad to see Parvati take the confirmation of peace; the girl relaxed knowing that Ginny wasn’t holding a grudge after all this time.

 _Time! It’s almost time!_ Hermione jumped up and out of her chair. “I have to go,” she said, quickly gathering her things.

“Where are you going?” Ginny demanded. “We’ve only had half the tea!”

“Potions lab,” Hermione said, packing up too quickly to think of a lie.

“You finished it in class,” Parvati complained. “What on earth are you working on?”

“Nothing!” She blushed. “Well -- er -- a side project,” she said, then rushed out before they could ask any more questions. Everything was confusing enough already; she wasn’t sure she could put it into words why she met Daphne Greengrass in the potions lab so often. She could hardly explain it to herself!

Ginny looked at Parvati, the smile creeping back onto her face. “So she’s meeting someone, yeah?”

“Definitely!”

* * *

It was late November, and Hermione and Daphne had fallen into an easy routine. They used the lab at the same times every week, and other students avoided them thanks to Daphne’s incessant experimentation.

“I think I’m going to try switching the fairy wings for a Flitterby’s,” Daphne told her late into the evening. “Just a warning.”

Hermione stared over their cauldrons at her. “That’s dangerous. Why would you try that?”

“I want to see if the structural dissimilarity will be made up for by their material and numerical similarities, and I have the ingredients.”

“Daphne.”

Daphne dramatically flicked her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Hermione.”

The same butterflies returned to Hermione’s stomach that always came when Daphne said her name like that. She was still a bit confused by her feelings for her, but less afraid than before. “Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should.”

Daphne pouted playfully. “What’s the point of learning if not to eventually push the boundaries of knowledge?”

“You’re impossible,” said Hermione, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s what you like about me.” Hermione sighed unintentionally; Daphne had this tendency to say exactly the right thing to undo her. The girl smirked, and Hermione steeled herself for the conversation that she knew they needed to have.

“I like a lot of things about you,” she admitted.

“That’s very sensible of you,” Daphne said, one hand playing with a tuft of her own hair. “I’m very likeable.” Then, as if sensing Hermione’s uncertainty, she looked right into her eyes and smiled. It was a smaller smile than usual, as though she was trying not to scare Hermione away. “I like a lot of things about you, too.”

“Really?” Hermione felt as though she couldn’t breathe.

“Yes. You’re clever,” Daphne said, and stepped closer. She was hardly a breath away. “You’re horribly sensible, always keeping things from getting too chaotic. And you’re beautiful,” she added, reaching out to tuck a strand of Hermione’s hair behind an ear.

She didn’t move any closer or lean in, waiting for Hermione to make the first move. Still feeling like she had just sprinted down from the library, she focused on Daphne’s eyes. She had thought from afar they were blue, but up close they were green -- not like Harry’s, but like a busy sea under the sun.

Closing her eyes and imagining the color of Daphne’s, she leaned forward. Time slid to a stop when their lips met, but the butterflies in Hermione’s stomach didn’t. Chaos in the still moment. Daphne’s lips were soft against hers, much softer than any of the boys’ she’d kissed before.

She felt Daphne’s hand settle on the back of her head as the kiss deepened. The scent of spearmint overwhelmed her, and she remembered they’d added some to Daphne’s latest batch of hand cream. Hermione wondered if her hands were as soft as her lips, and she felt her knees weaken a little.

Emboldened by Daphne’s touch, Hermione let her hand drift to her waist; her hand felt like it was burning, and she loved it. It was like everything she had felt in the last months was being channeled into this moment. When they pulled apart to take a breath, Hermione was the first to dive back into the kiss, Daphne only too happy to join her.

Hermione wasn’t sure how long they had been like that before there was a crash in the corridor. They jumped apart, and she was satisfied to see a pink tinge to Daphne’s cheeks. She wasn’t alone in enjoying the kiss.

“We should, er,” she started weakly.

“Yes,” Daphne said, nodding firmly and smiling again. “We should.”

Daphne vanished her own potion and swept her things unceremoniously into her bag. Hermione winced, imagining what her books were going to look like when she needed them. The girl almost danced out of the room, looking like she was walking on air.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called over her shoulder.

Hermione, who had no idea what they ‘should’ do, was left completely confused, but excited for tomorrow.

* * *

Walking back to the common room late one December night, Hermione only vaguely noticed the snow falling outside. She was still recovering the ability to breathe. Daphne’s hands _were_ soft.

She should’ve known Ginny would notice something off as soon as she got back. “Oh my… what happened to you?” she asked in a faux-scandalized tone.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Um, no, you’re going to talk about it. You look like you’ve been snogged senseless!” Hermione blushed, giving Ginny ammunition. “Who is it? It’s not Boot, is it?”

Hermione shook her head and immediately realized it was a mistake. She’d never give up now. Without a word, Hermione grabbed Ginny by the hand and dragged her up to the eighth-year girls’ dorm. Thankfully, Parvati (the only other eighth-year girl) wasn’t there.

Ginny named off all of the most likely candidates (“Goldstein? _Dean?_ ”) and Hermione shook her head ‘no’ every time. “I mean, that’s everyone I can think of… it wasn’t a Hogsmeade weekend, so it couldn’t have been my brother…” Then Ginny’s jaw dropped. “Merlin, Hermione, were you snogging a girl?”

Hermione blushed, nodding her head miserably. She couldn’t deny it.

“Who? No, don’t tell me -- Luna! Susan!” Hermione looked solidly at the dormitory wall. “Fine. Is it a Gryffindor? Ravenclaw? Hufflepuff?” Hermione continued to stare at the wall, taking in the small smudges in the paint. (Was the dorm created from nothing, looking old? Did Hogwarts pull an unused room out from vanished space?) Ginny laughed, and Hermione cringed. ”Hermione, you snogged a Slytherin girl?”

She nodded ever so slightly.

“Well, it was definitely Greengrass, then,” Ginny said smartly.

Hermione’s head turned so quickly she worried briefly about whiplash. “How could you know that?”

“Well, I can’t see you going for anyone below my year. Most of the ones left are absolute bints -- I can’t see you snogging Parkinson.” Hermione’s nose wrinkled. “Exactly. Davis is fine, I guess, but it’s not like she screams ‘lesbian.’”

“And Greengrass does?” Hermione asked curiously.

Ginny gave her a level look. “Yes.”

Hermione thought for a moment. “Do I?”

“Well, you’ve never screamed ‘straight’ to me, but clearly some boys have thought differently.”

“Oh my god, I might be bisexual,” Hermione whispered. The entire situation had been confusing, but she hadn’t even thought of _that_.

Ginny chuckled. “Hermione, if you’ve been snogging her and liked it, and you snogged my brother and liked it, I’m pretty sure you’re bisexual. It’s alright!”

The wizarding world must be much more accepting of this sort of thing, Hermione thought dimly. She couldn’t imagine telling her parents.

* * *

It wasn’t until almost Easter that the whole secret fell apart.

“Honestly, Hermione,” Parvati complained, “I don’t know why you defend Greengrass! She’s crazy, she could have blown up the whole room pulling that!”

“She’s not crazy,” Hermione said hotly. “She’s just very passionate about her research.”

Ginny snorted. “ _Passionate_ , is she?” Hermione couldn’t help but blush a little, and then the whole thing collapsed.

“I’m -- hold on,” Parvati said haltingly. “Hold on!”

“Look,” Hermione started, “I understand that it’s a lot to process--”

“No, it’s -- how did I not notice? The signs were all there!”

“What signs?” Hermione asked, glancing out from between her hands covering her face.

“Exactly what I told you months ago,” Ginny said smartly.

“You knew this whole time?” Parvati asked, outraged. “Tell me everything, the both of you!”

Of course, Parvati could never keep her mouth shut, and juicy gossip traveled fast; it wasn’t a full day before the entire school knew. Hermione once again marveled at the acceptance of this from the wizarding world. People were more scandalized by her seeing a Slytherin than the sapphic nature of the relationship.

* * *

“I’m sorry again,” Hermione said weakly. It had been three days, and the clamor over their ‘secret, torrid relationship’ was only just starting to die down.

“It’s fine,” said Daphne with a laugh, languidly stirring her (metallic gold, this time correctly) potion. “It’ll calm down. Weasley and Patil haven’t given you any trouble, right?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “But… there is something.” Daphne looked up at her, still stirring. “They want to go to Hogsmeade. The four of us. To get to know you.”

Mercifully, Daphne seemed unphased. “Are you sure _you_ want to? My ‘people skills’ are rusty.”

“As long as you’re comfortable, I think it’s a good idea,” she said, working not to pressure her either way.

“Patil doesn’t scare me,” Daphne said archly, putting on what Hermione called her ‘ice queen’ persona.

“What about Ginny?” Hermione asked, grinning.

Daphne frowned. “I do think she could take me in a fight.”

Hermione laughed, feeling light without the weight of their secret. “I’ll tell them you’re prepared for battle.”


End file.
